


Stop and Stare (I Think I’m Moving, But I Go Nowhere)

by QueenKatelynTheAristocrat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 02:35:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12122664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenKatelynTheAristocrat/pseuds/QueenKatelynTheAristocrat
Summary: Draco Malfoy had it all figured out. He would lead the life he was supposed to, follow his father’s orders, become just another one of the Dark Lord’s slaves, and everything would turn out fine. He was absolutely certain of it. Except he wasn’t. He really wasn’t.





	Stop and Stare (I Think I’m Moving, But I Go Nowhere)

Draco Malfoy had it all figured out. He would lead the life he was supposed to, follow his father’s orders, become just another one of the Dark Lord’s slaves, and everything would turn out fine. He was absolutely certain of it. Except he wasn’t. He really wasn’t. 

The thing was, everything was fine except for those rare times when it wasn’t. It was always entirely random. The doubts would creep in, he would freeze up -- the blood in his veins turning to ice and rendering him immobile for several seconds -- and he’d think about how everything he’d been taught to believe might very well be wrong… but then he’d push it all to the back of his mind, straighten his shoulders, smooth his hair back, deaden his eyes to his usual mask of carelessness, and catch up with his usual crowd of Slytherins. After all, it was much too late for doubts and what if’s. Right? 

Because the Dark Lord rarely gave second chances. And he never let anyone leave alive. He’d grown up hearing these two statements repeated over and over like a mantra -- from Lucius to Narcissa to explain his “devotion” to the cause, and later from Narcissa to Draco to explain his father’s behavior. But every time Dumbledore offered him another poorly disguised escape plan or Uncle Sev gave him one of those heaven forsaken pity filled looks he swore his resistance crumbled a little bit more. 

But what was he supposed to do? Drop in on Dumbledore’s office and say something like, “Hey, Voldemort wants me to kill you, but I don’t really want to do it, so can you help me please?” Yeah right! He’d find himself in Azkaban -- or at least locked in the dungeons: damn right he’d heard those stories -- before he could even draw his damn wand. And what good would that do? Maybe he could share a fucking prison cell with his father. God knows he might be safer in there than kneeling before the Dark Lord and hoping he wasn’t ripping his every thought directly from his mind. 

Of course, Draco Malfoy didn’t really think these things. They just entered his mind in moments of weakness. Times when he wasn’t surrounded by others, bragging about his “Special Mission” and threatening first year Slytherins with the knowledge of his Dark Mark. Times when he was alone. In the darkness, in his room when his roommates were out, walking down an empty hallway back to class because the burning pain from his left arm had become so unbearable he’d had to leave. Leaning against the door in the room of requirement and staring at that fucking vanishing cabinet and wishing he could just walk out and straight into the clutches of Goddamn Harry Potter -- whom he was entirely certain was out there at that very moment -- just to see the look on his face. Draco was sure it would be hilarious. 

But he was just frustrated. He didn’t really mean it. He didn’t want to turn himself in, because his father trusted him to bring honor to the family name. Even though the bastard had gotten himself locked in Azkaban, leaving Draco and his mother alone in a house occupied by Lord Voldemort. So maybe he didn’t really care what Lucius thought anymore. But he did care about his mother. So he returned every night to the vanishing cabinet and tried to figure out how to make the damn thing work. At least there was plenty of shit to destroy in the room of junk when  yet another spell failed and Draco felt like the world was caving in. 

These doubts could be easily handled. His emotions were entirely under control. At least that’s what he thought. That is, until The Revelation. And of course it was Potter’s fault. Everything was Potter’s fault. 

It wasn’t like anything was out of the ordinary about the day, either. It was almost curfew, so it was just beginning to get dark. Draco was walking back to the castle from the forbidden forest -- another ill fated plan to fix the vanishing cabinet -- and he had to walk past the lake. Which was truly unfortunate, because Potter, Weasley, and Granger were sitting there, talking quietly to each other and generally being happy Gryffindors, and Draco didn’t know what was so goddamn captivating about the moment, but he found himself frozen in place, just staring, just feeling this rush of emotions so strong that he was surprised he didn’t collapse under the weight of them.

Like, honestly, he’d seen the three of them a million times over his years at Hogwarts, but this moment had to be the one that made him regret every single one of his life choices since the first day he’d stepped off the Hogwart’s Express. 

Of course, Draco was aware that he was in love with Harry Potter. In some far off corner of his mind -- the same place he kept his wishes that he could just point his wand at Voldemort and say  _ Avada Kedavra _ \-- he knew this to be the truth. But this moment happened to be the one to drag those feelings up from the bottom of his -- seemingly empty -- heart, and force him to confront them. 

Denial was a beautiful thing. Hatred is love and love is hatred. What’s the goddamn difference when you really think about it? Both make you want to destroy things, and they both come from some ancient part of the human mind, some forgotten corner of the human psyche that demanded we fight for survival and reproduce or die. Both were incredibly painful to he who felt them. Both were nearly impossible to contain. So replacing one with the other should be simple… in theory. 

But sometimes he slipped up. And this time he happened to combine these shameful feelings with the aforementioned doubts about Voldemort and his father and the task he was given, and the result was shaking hands and sharp vision and waves of nausea combined with quickened breathing. Who would have believed it of the Slytherin Prince? Frozen in place by emotions and entirely unable to stop staring at one Harry Potter, sitting in the moonlight and looking incredibly content to be surrounded on both sides by his best friends. 

God, what Draco wouldn’t give to be there right now. But he didn’t really think that, he… oh who was he kidding? He did. He wanted to be there, happy and content, living a life worth living, a truly  _ honorable  _ life, so badly that it burned worse than his fucking Dark Mark ever did. He wanted so badly to be anyone else but himself. He wanted to have a fucking  _ choice _ for once -- because goddamn it, he’d choose so very differently. He wanted to have the  _ right  _ to stand beside Harry Potter, and to belong there, because secretly, there was nowhere else he wanted to be more. He wanted… well, he just  _ wanted.  _ He wanted so badly it hurt. He wanted so badly that he felt like sobbing. He wanted so badly that he just couldn’t  _ move,  _ no matter how hard he tried. 

And of course, Potter had to choose that moment to glance behind him. Their eyes met, and if Potter was surprised by what he saw in Draco’s he didn’t show it. He didn’t say anything to his friends either, neither of whom had noticed anything was wrong. He just stared. And Draco stared back. And the moment lasted for infinity. Or at least until Potter turned back around and broke whatever spell had been holding Draco in place. 

Goddamn emotions anyway. Absolutely no point to them. Draco made a point of locking them back up as he made his way back to the castle, and, more importantly, the vanishing cabinet. Because he had a job to do. So he would complete it. That’s just all there was. And all there ever would be. Because he was a fucking  _ Malfoy.  _ And that was how it worked. 


End file.
